Regret and Recriminations
by pulpbomb
Summary: After sleeping with Lestrade, Sherlock panics at the thought that he has betrayed his past love, Victor. Can Greg get through to him? (Sherstrade with past Sherlock/Victor Trevor mentioned)


Greg awoke to the sounds of rustling outside his bedroom. He stretched his hand to the other side of them bed and felt the faint remains of body heat on the sheets. He got up and put on his dressing gown before leaving his bedroom.

In the front hall he saw Sherlock hopping about trying to put on his shoe. It was possibly the least graceful thing Lestrade had ever seen from the other man. He opened his mouth to tease Sherlock but the words died in his throat when the other man looked up and saw him. The expression on Sherlock's face told Lestrade he wasn't going to like what the detective had to say.

Sherlock managed to get his shoe on and adjusted his coat. "I … have to go. Last night … I can't …This was a mistake. I have to go." He didn't wait for a response before rushing out of the flat and leaving Greg feeling like he'd taken all the oxygen with him.

—

Greg loved his job but that day he wished he could just leave. Abandon everything and go see Sherlock. But being a Detective Inspector came with a lot of responsibility and so Lestrade struggled through the day, doing his best to put Sherlock and his concern for the man to the back of his mind.

When his shift ended he went straight to the cemetery. That morning when he grabbed his phone to call Sherlock after his abrupt departure he cursed when he saw the date. No wonder Sherlock was so upset. It was the anniversary of Victor Trevor's death, Sherlock's first love.

Approaching the gravestone, he noticed the area surrounding it had been cleared of leaves and old flowers very recently. There was a fresh bouquet of flowers at the base of the stone. Lestrade approached the grave slowly and rested a hand on the sun warmed granite.

"Oh, Victor. I wish I had known you. Sherlock loves you still and he misses you desperately. I'd hoped I could help him, not forget you - never that - but move forward, but I messed everything up, I fear."

Lestrade stepped back and looked at the beautiful, carved granite stone. It read simply:

_**Victor Trevor**_

_**Beloved **_

with the dates of his birth and death below it. Greg sighed deeply and turned to leave the cemetery.

—

Greg knocked on the door to Baker Street expecting to be greeted by Mrs. Hudson. He heard feet clambering down the steps and to his surprise, John Watson opened the door. The doctor stepped outside and pulled the door to 221B closed behind him.

"Thank God you're here. I came by three hours ago for a quick visit and found Sherlock is in a rare state." John said in a stage whisper, glancing up at the windows to the flat.

Lestrade gripped John's upper arm tightly, "What do you mean? What exactly has he done?"

John glanced down at Lestrade's hand in surprise. "That's the thing. He's not done anything. He's just lying on the sofa. I know that's the norm for him but usually when I pop by he greets me and makes a sad attempt at small talk before retreating back into his thoughts. Today, he didn't react to my presence at all. He still hasn't. He's just lying there… Lestrade, I'm worried about him. Do you know what's going on?"

Lestrade released the other man and ran a weary hand through his silvering hair. "Yeah, I do. Ordinarily, I'd leave it to Sherlock to tell you about this because it's his business but you deserve to know. Today is the anniversary of his husband's death."

John reared back in shock. "His husband?! He was married? What? When?"

"He met Victor, his husband, in Uni. They became fast friends and it quickly morphed into something more. They married a few years after they each graduated. Victor was killed in a car accident and died in hospital before Sherlock could see him. They were only married four years but Victor was the love of Sherlock's life." Lestrade spoke quickly, wanting to tell John but also needing to get upstairs to Sherlock.

"He never mentioned anything. I thought he was asexual. He never said a word. I thought I was his friend —" John shook his head.

Lestrade cut him off. "John, stop. You are his friend. His best friend. But Victor's death broke something in Sherlock and he decided that sentiment and emotions were best left to others so he could never be hurt like that again. He's never gotten over Victor and he probably never will. But don't you dare doubt that he cares for you immensely and that you are his best friend."

John nodded slowly. "You're right, you're right. Shit, sorry. It's just such a shock… He's never been like this before on the anniversary though, has he? I think I'd have noticed that. What triggered this?"

At John's question, Lestrade felt a flush creep up his face and he averted his gaze quickly, staring at his shoes.

John sucked in a sharp breath. "Ohhh … You and he …? Ah, I see."

Lestrade gave a sharp nod. "I need to go see up and him. He left this morning in a rush before I realized what day it was and what was going on."

"Of course. I have my house keys. I'll come back for my jacket tomorrow or whenever. Send me a text." John patted Lestrade on the shoulder.

"I will. Thanks for understanding, John." With that, Lestrade moved past the other man and entered the building, taking the stairs to the flat two at a time.

As the doctor said, Sherlock was lying prone on his sofa, wrapped in his dark coat.

Lestrade shut the door to the flat behind him and went to sit on the coffee table by Sherlock's head.

For a few moments, he just sat there, knowing the detective was aware of his presence and (hopefully) offering the younger man silent comfort.

"I forgot what day today was." Sherlock whispered, his eyes still closed. "I should have been thinking of him and instead I let myself fall into bed with you."

"Give yourself a break. We've been working this case for almost two weeks. Barely sleeping, hardly eating. On a good day you don't know the date. Please don't beat yourself up because of the timing. Victor wouldn't want that." Greg wanted to reach out and touch the younger man but he refrained, waiting for Sherlock to give him a sign it would be welcome.

Sherlock scoffed. "Oh please. How would you know what Victor wanted? You never even knew him. He died before we ever met."

Greg sighed softly. "Do you know how many nights I sat by your side, waiting for you to come down, listening to you tell me about your life with Victor? Countless. I feel like I know him because of you. I know, I know. I didn't, but you told me so much back then. I'm sure you either deleted those nights or were too high to remember."

Sherlock opened his eyes and slowly turned his head towards Lestrade. "I don't remember that."

Lestrade huffed a small laugh at that. "I'm not surprised, kiddo. You were high more often than not in those days and I was constantly fighting to get you clean."

Sherlock sat up on the sofa and his feet touched Lestrade's. "I do remember that. Mycroft wanted to stick me in an institution somewhere and forget about me. But you kept me out. Got me clean. Dealt with my many relapses and finally took me to rehab when I realized I couldn't go on like that any longer."

Lestrade shrugged and a light blush colored his cheeks. "Yeah, well. I didn't like seeing you hurt yourself. And I knew you could offer so much if you'd just get that poison out of your system."

Sherlock leaned forward until their knees were touching. "You never gave up on me. And I was horrible to you. Even by my standards. Why is that?"

Lestrade placed a gentle hand on Sherlock's knee and kept his touch light. "Sunshine, whatever this is between us. It didn't happen overnight. We've been building to this for a long time now."

Sherlock shrank back and pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. "Oh God. You're right. I've been betraying Victor for years. Goddamn me."

Greg didn't reach out, though he longed to take the younger man in his arms and comfort him. "No, Sherlock. No. It's not like that. You can have more than one love. You can have more than one friend."

Sherlock snorted and rolled his eyes but Lestrade pushed on.

"Victor was your best friend, yeah? Your only friend for a long time. You think he'd begrudge you John's presence in your life?" Lestrade cocked his head as he observed the detective.

Sherlock sniffed derisively. "Of course not. Don't be ridiculous. Victor would be happy to learn I had a new companion."

Lestrade went in for the kill. "Then why am I any different? Victor knew how much you loved him in life and I doubt he'd want you miserable after he was gone. He'd want you to find happiness wherever you could. You know that. That's what's bothering you. You feel happy again and you think it's a betrayal. It's not. This is what Victor would want for you."

Sherlock looked at him, his features softening slightly but a suspicious look remained on his face. "How could you possibly know that?

Greg met his gaze steadily. "Because if I were Victor and I died, I'd want you to be happy. I wouldn't want you to suffer."

Sherlock's entire body seemed to collapse inward at that. Tears streamed silently down his cheeks.

Lestrade couldn't help himself. He got up and sat next to the younger man and pulled him into an embrace. Sherlock collapsed against him and rested his head on the Greg's shoulder.

Lestrade turned and buried his head in the detective's soft brown curls. "Sherlock, I know Victor was the love of your life. I would never try to replace him. I could never replace him. I know that."

Sherlock muttered into Greg's shirt. "He was irreplaceable. Unique. A force unto himself. He was my sun and stars. I was but a satellite drawn in by his gravity."

Lestrade braced himself internally for what he had to say next. "I care about you, Sherlock, so much it scares me sometimes … In fact, I care for you enough to walk away if that's what you want." Sherlock's stiffened and gripped Lestrade's shirtfront in his fist.

"Please don't. I …" His voice trailed off. Lestrade breathed a deep sigh of relief. He reached over and tipped Sherlock's face up to his own, his brown eyes searching the younger man's tear-stained face.

Greg asked what he considered to be the most important question. "Do I make you happy, Sherlock?"

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and leaned up to brush a chaste kiss on Lestrade's lips. "Yes. God help me, but yes you do."

Greg leaned back and smiled softly at Sherlock.

"Then I think Victor would approve."


End file.
